


burn it down till the embers smoke on the ground

by messageredacted



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it gets too dangerous to keep the Joker in Arkham, Batman has to take him to a safe place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [burn it down till the embers smoke on the ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172756) by [thekingdombythesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingdombythesea/pseuds/thekingdombythesea)



> Originally written on 17 February 2010.

The last of the tapes is labeled two days ago, and it goes like this:

 _The interview room is rendered in black and white and shades of gray. A blurry gray shape blocks the right edge of the frame as if something has been placed too close to the camera, or as if the camera is hidden behind something. The rest of the frame shows a patient sitting in a chair, straightjacket wrapped tight. He keeps his feet up on the chair, toes curled around the edge of the seat. His hair hangs in his face._

 _The doctor is just out of frame, one white-clad elbow visible on the edge of the table. A corner of a notepad sticks into the frame but the quality of the footage is far too grainy to make out any writing._

 _“How are you today?” the doctor asks, his voice carefully neutral._

 _The patient doesn’t move on the chair or acknowledge the question in any way. His face is turned vaguely towards the far wall. The camera picks out the shadows that gather under the scars on his cheeks. His eyes are glassy as if he’s been heavily sedated._

 _“Is it a quiet day again?” the doctor asks with a touch of indulgence. He pauses briefly as if waiting for a response, then adds, “It was unfortunate what happened but you assaulted a guard. You know what the consequences are for that. You tell me that you hate sedation but you keep provoking them.”_

 _A few seconds tick by on the digital display burned into the bottom edge of the footage. The doctor pushes back his chair and gets up. He comes around the table and stops in front of the patient, his back to the camera. He does something to the patient that can’t be seen._

 _“I’ll have the nurses cut it again,” the doctor says, then turns away, revealing that the patient’s hair has been tied back. The patient’s eyes track the doctor back to his desk._

 _“Can we talk about what happened with the guard?” the doctor suggests, settling back down in his seat. The patient’s gaze has drifted away again._

 _“The report that I read said that you stabbed Officer Jacobs in the neck with a fork that you stole from the dining room. You’re lucky that he wasn’t killed. Why do you think you attacked him?”_

 _The patient licks the corner of his mouth. It’s the only part of him that moves. The doctor waits a moment._

 _“This says that you also refused to tell the guards on the scene what your reasons were.”_

 _More silence. The doctor leans forward on his desk, part of his shoulder and the back of his head becoming visible._

 _“Was it because you’re angry with me?” he asks quietly._

 _No answer._

 _“Good,” the doctor says, leaning back again._

##

The wailing siren is almost unbearably loud in the air ducts of Arkham Asylum, echoing in the tiny space. Batman drags himself along on his stomach, his jaw set. When he gets out of here, he is going to need to take a _lot_ of aspirin.

 _Welcome back to active duty_ , he tells himself sardonically. This is his first real mission since Rachel’s death last year. He never intended to take this much time off, but right now taking another year off sounds like a _great_ idea.

The duct ends in a grate in a hallway. Running shapes pass by underneath, flashes of Arkham red. Someone is shouting far down the hall and black smoke trickles up through the grate. Far off, something crashes and then someone screams.

The prison riot started forty-five minutes ago, when two inmates overpowered three guards and then managed to open up a cell block. There is absolutely no way of telling how many of the guards, nurses and doctors are still alive, but at least fifty-seven have been taken hostage. The inmates have established communication with the police outside by way of the telephone, but the paranoid schizophrenic who is doing negotiations is refusing to give any pertinent details.

Batman unscrews the grate carefully, setting the screws aside, then holds the grate with one hand as he tossed a smoke bomb through the opening. The handful of the inmates in the hall shout and Batman hears fleeing footsteps. The hall fills with billowing gray smoke and he slips through, securing the grate back in place before easing into the hallway.

This is the first time Batman has ever been exposed to a prison riot, and the noise is incredible. Along with the excruciatingly loud alarm, there is distant shouting and screams and banging. The guards are not allowed to carry guns in Arkham just in case something like this happens, but these are some of the worst criminals Gotham has seen who were too crazy for Blackgate Penitentiary, so they’re all considered dangerous even without guns.

Batman moves quickly down the hall, scanning the open doors. Someone is curled up against the wall in the fetal position. Batman bends down and touches the man’s shoulder and the man shrieks. He doesn’t look injured, just terrified, so Batman leaves him be and moves on.

At the end of the hall, there is nearby shouting. Batman slows and then peers around the corner. Two men struggle against each other, one of them armed with a piece of broken glass. Batman steps around the corner and grabs the unarmed man, throwing him into the wall, then clamps his hand on the wrist of the armed man, wrenching his hand behind his back. He takes the glass away and forces the man to the floor, twisting his hands behind his back and cuffing him with a zip tie. The other man is still struggling to get back to his feet. Batman subdues him as well, leaving the two of them bound on the floor. The SWAT team will be able to take care of them later.

The dining hall is up ahead to the right, through a set of double doors. Batman slows and looks through the meshed glass windows. Two inmates are standing outside of the doors to the dining hall, looking up and down the hallway. The hostages are most likely inside, as that was where the telephone was that the inmates were using. They’ll be on the lookout for any police. If they see Batman, the hostages will be as good as dead.

But he’s not here for the hostages.

He turns in the other direction, continuing down the hall. The hallway here is dim, the lights turned off somewhere. Down at the end of the hall, a fluorescent light flickers, its plastic case shattered. There’s a red hand print on the wall.

Two days ago, Gordon gave him information about potential trouble at Arkham Asylum. Official policy is that if there are enough threats on an inmate’s life in the prison, that inmate is removed until his safety can be secured. Mostly this policy is used in the case of prison fighting or gang violence. It’s often handled by the prison guards or the police, but not this time. Someone had put a bounty on the Joker’s head.

Gordon had given Batman the unfortunate task of making sure no one came to collect. Gordon felt certain that there were policemen and doctors and nurses who would be more than willing to collect on the bounty, so there was no one else to trust with taking care of this matter but him.

The fact that the target is the Joker shouldn’t have any influence on this rescue mission, but the whole idea of this mission leaves a sour taste in Batman’s throat. He will absolutely do the job required of him, but the thought of saving the Joker seems like getting involved in the middle of a pointless fight. He has never hoped for someone’s death before but he can’t help but think that if everyone were just a little quicker on their feet, he might not have to do this mission at all. And if this prison riot hadn’t forced his hand, maybe he would have had a little more advance notice on this mission and he wouldn’t have to climb through the goddamn _ventilation ducts._

The last that Batman heard of the Joker’s whereabouts, he was in solitary confinement. That makes him a sitting duck at the moment. Batman keeps moving.

##

 _“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”_

 _This tape was recorded four months before the last tape. The patient is far more alert this time. He sits upright in the chair with his feet planted on the ground. His gaze fixes steadily on the doctor._

 _“This medication makes me jittery.”_

 _“How are the hallucinations?”_

 _“I don’t hallucinate.”_

 _“No.” The doctor laughs quietly. “No, of course. I heard a report from a nurse that you were recalcitrant at lights out last night.”_

 _The Joker’s mouth settles in a line and he doesn’t answer._

 _“You didn’t want to take your medication?”_

 _“I told you. It makes me jittery. Makes it hard to sleep.”_

 _“You had trouble sleeping?”_

 _The Joker is silent again. His eyes are fixed intently on the doctor._

 _“You mentioned previously that you had been having dreams.”_

 _The tiniest hint of a smile curls the corner of the Joker’s mouth. “I’ve been having dreams, doc.”_

 _“Can you tell me about them?”_

 _The Joker settles a little farther into his chair. “I dream that I get a visitor in my cell at night.”_

 _“What kind of a visitor?” The doctor’s voice is bland._

 _“Well, she’s dressed in the tiniest little nurse’s outfit.”_

 _“I see.” At the edge of the frame, the doctor makes a note on his notepad. “What happens in these dreams?”_

 _“Do you really have that little imagination, doc?”_

 _“I try not to make assumptions.”_

 _“She’s a demon in the sack. It’s like she was born for it. You ever get dreams like that, doc?”_

 _“I’d be surprised to find someone who didn’t,” the doctor says neutrally. “We haven’t discussed your sex life in these sessions too much. Would you be interested in starting?”_

 _“You mean you want the gory details?”_

 _“Is there gore?”_

 _“No.” The Joker is still watching the doctor, unblinking. “No gore. She just can’t get enough of me. She keeps saying ‘Please, daddy—’” He pauses. “She likes to call me daddy.”_

 _“Why is that, do you think?”_

 _“I haven’t asked her.”_

 _“Do you like it that she calls you that?”_

 _“Well, it’s a little creepy, really.”_

 _“So the dream makes you uncomfortable.”_

 _“Not at all. I’m completely comfortable. Whatever floats her boat.”_

 _“So the dream is a good dream, you would say?”_

 _“Except for the end, when she has to leave.”_

 _“Where does she go?”_

 _“School.”_

 _There is a pause. The doctor taps his pen on his notebook. “How old is she?”_

 _“She looks about six.”_

 _There is a longer pause. After a moment, the doctor reaches out to a picture frame on the end of his desk and turns it down onto its face. In the moment that it's visible, it’s apparent that the picture is of a man and his young daughter trick-or-treating. The daughter is dressed as a nurse._

 _“I think she said her name was Becca,” the Joker offers helpfully, before bursting into laughter. “Do you wanna know where she lives?”_

 _“I’m disappointed,” the doctor says, his voice very cold. “I thought we might actually be getting somewhere.” He hesitates, obviously trying to keep his anger under control. “Our professional relationship is based on trust, and when you break that trust, it destroys everything we’ve been working towards.”_

 _The Joker manages to get control of his laughter. The doctor waits until he does._

 _“I find this interesting, actually,” the doctor says. “You refuse to talk about sexuality except to use it as a weapon against me. Why do you think that is?”_

 _The Joker says nothing._

 _“No, no, I think the question is fair,” the doctor insists, now completely back in control. “You brought up sexuality, so I think we should confront this issue. Can you tell me anything about your sex life?”_

 _The Joker stares at him. He almost looks incredulous, as if the doctor is asking a very obvious question._

 _“Do you think you can answer me?” the doctor asks him calmly._

 _“No,” the Joker says._

##

The solitary confinement cell door hangs open, the cell inside empty. There is a spray of blood on the wall and an inmate dead in the corner, but the inmate is not the Joker. Batman slips out of the cell, listening. If the Joker managed to survive the attempt on his life, he could be anywhere in the entire asylum right now.

There is no choice but to keep looking. Batman keeps on down the hall and then pauses. There’s a bloody footprint on the floor, just the ball of the foot and five toes smeared, as if someone was running. He follows the footprints, which grow bloodier. At the end of the hall is another body, viciously stabbed to death. The throat is cut so deeply that the head is nearly completely separated from the neck. It’s a prison guard, and this one is wearing shoes. Not the source of the footprints, then. The footprints continue down the hall.

Batman moves warily, his ears straining for any sound. Something crashes inside the room at the end of the hall. The door there is shut and a plaque next to it labels the room as a nurse break room. The mesh window in the door is cracked. Batman peers in the window, his hand on the knob.

The room inside is dark but Batman can make out a few chairs lying on their sides. A man stumbles into view, his hands covering his face. Blood is dripping out from between his fingers. He falls to his knees and then onto his face. There is another crash farther into the room. Batman opens the door and hits the light.

A guard’s body drops to the ground, still gurgling through the open wound in his throat. The Joker stands over him, so covered in blood that he seems to be in a full body suit of it, the blood soaking into the red Arkham uniform. He’s holding a homemade knife in his hand. His eyes, the only part of him clear from blood, are fixed on Batman.

“Did _everyone_ come to say hi?” the Joker asks, his voice a little ragged. There seems to be something wrong with his mouth, as if it’s wider than it should be. Under the blood, Batman can see fresh cuts in the corners of his mouth.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Batman growls. “You’re being evacuated to a secure facility.”

The Joker lets out a laugh, looking incredulous. Footsteps thud in the hallway outside the door. Batman moves further into the room, taking the zip cuffs out of his belt.

“Turn around,” he says.

The Joker doesn’t move, his eyes following Batman as he comes closer. The shiv is still held tightly in his hand. The footsteps go past the doorway without stopping.

“I’m here to help you,” Batman says, the words sour in his mouth. He gauges the distance between them. The Joker's shiv won’t be able to do much damage against his armor.

“Fuck you,” the Joker spits.

Batman launches himself forward, feinting left and then darting right and slamming the Joker back into the wall, his hand driving the Joker’s wrist into the cinderblock until the shiv clatters away. The Joker goes for a head-butt but Batman absorbs the blow with his mask. The Joker twists violently in his grip but Batman uses his full weight to pin him down.

Batman twists the Joker’s arms behind his back and cuffs him with the zip cuffs. The Joker’s wrists are raw and torn from some previous restraint, but Batman doesn’t have time to be gentle with this. The SWAT team will be coming in soon and they can’t be here when that happens.

The auto-injector is in his belt, waiting. Batman yanks it out. The Joker slams his weight back against Batman again, trying to force him away, and Batman slams the auto-injector into the Joker’s bicep. He feels a grim satisfaction when the needle jabs into the muscle, injecting the sedative.

The Joker slowly goes limp, his knees buckling. Batman binds his feet as well and then hoists him onto his shoulder. Getting him out of here is going to be so much fun.

##

 _The tape starts as the guards are bringing the Joker in for his session. The doctor is sitting at his desk, but this time there is a young girl standing in the corner of the room, saying nothing._

 _“How are you this morning?” the doctor asks._

 _The Joker sends a wary glance towards the girl, then at the doctor. He says nothing._

 _“I was wondering if we could continue where we left off yesterday,” the doctor says smoothly. “We were discussing sexuality.”_

 _The Joker’s eyes briefly flick towards the girl, then back at the doctor. He continues to remain silent._

 _“Is there some reason that you feel we can’t talk about it?”_

 _“Is it necessary?”_

 _“Necessary?” The doctor pauses. “Well, I would say that sexuality has a large influence on what we do. It’s the reason we exist, to be blunt._

 _“Then let’s talk about yours,” the Joker drawls._

 _“Certainly. I am a happily married man with two children. My wife and I have a healthy sex life.”_

 _The Joker glances at the doctor’s desk. “You got rid of the picture of your daughter.”_

 _“It seemed to distract you. Now I’ve answered your question, so I would like it if you answered mine. Could you tell me about your first sexual experience?”_

 _The Joker blinks and then says “I was sixteen, she was thirty-two. She wanted to teach me about the world.”_

 _“We’re working on a relationship of trust here, remember. I’m going to try my best to believe what you tell me, but you’re going to have to work hard to tell the truth,” the doctor says patiently._

 _“Who says that wasn’t the truth?”_

 _“Were you ever sexually abused as a child?”_

 _“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”_

 _“Please don’t joke about that. Of course I wouldn’t like that. You seem to be using confrontational language as a defense mechanism so you don’t have to answer uncomfortable questions.”_

 _“You don’t believe the answers I give you anyway.”_

 _“Okay. Let’s try something. I will try to believe everything you say if you try to tell me the truth. Do you think we can work on that?”_

 _The Joker shrugs carelessly. “Fine.”_

 _“How long have you been hallucinating?”_

 _The Joker looks startled. “I’m not hallucinating.”_

 _The doctor gestures towards the little girl. “You haven’t even asked me why my daughter is standing here. I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t bring it up in the session, unless you weren’t sure whether she was really there or not.”_

 _The Joker stares at the doctor without saying anything._

 _“I never acknowledged her, and so you didn’t think that I could see her. Am I correct?” The doctor waits for a moment until it becomes apparent that the Joker is not going to answer. “That makes me think that you have been hallucinating recently, if you would so readily believe that she’s not here.”_

 _“How can I trust you if you’re going to trick me?” the Joker asks him quietly._

 _“I see that we understand each other,” the doctor replies._

##

The bunker at the docks has been set up for long-term occupation, although preparations aren’t quite complete yet. The rescue attempt on the Joker wasn’t supposed to be for a few more days, but the prison riot forced Batman’s hand.

The bunker has few amenities but it did have a few rooms that were available to use for this purpose. In the past, Batman spent long nights here when he was too tired to return to the penthouse, so there was a small room in which he had set up a cot. The corner of the room holds a shower and a toilet. The floor and walls are all cement. Apart from a fluorescent light fixture overhead, there is nothing else in the room. It is depressingly bare, but that will do for his purposes. Batman had the door replaced with a solid metal one with a small window in it so he can check on the Joker before opening the door. The window has sliding metal cover to keep the Joker from looking out.

He deposits the Joker onto the floor by the shower and cuts the plastic cuffs. The Joker’s arms drop limply to the floor, unresponsive. His eyes are open to slits but he seems to be completely out of it at the moment, which will make it a lot easier to wash the blood off him. Batman reaches out and turns on the shower.

Water bursts out of the shower head, raining down on the both of them. Water beads on the surface of his costume. Where it hits the Joker, blood pours off of him, swirling down to a drain in the floor. Batman grabs the Joker’s arm and drags him up to his feet, then pins him against the wall.

“Can you stand up?” he asks. The Joker makes no response, his head tipping forward a little. Batman lets go of him slightly and the Joker starts to slip sideways. Batman grabs him again with an annoyed snort and adjusts the shower head to spray down on the both of them. He fists his hand in the Joker’s hair and tips his face up to the spray.

The water pours over the Joker’s face, washing the blood off and running over the scars. The cuts that Batman saw earlier are more apparent here. They dig deep into his cheeks, not quite as wide as the old scars but still extensive. Water runs over the cuts and the Joker grimaces, his mouth twisting. The wound gaps to show far too many teeth. For some reason the sight fills Batman with a sick horror and he closes his eyes for a second before opening them again. He lets go of the Joker’s hair, letting his face drop away from the water again. The Joker spits watery blood onto the floor.

The Arkham prison uniform is soaked through with water and has plastered itself to the Joker’s skin. Batman unbuttons the front of it and pulls it off the Joker’s shoulders. Underneath, he’s wearing what used to be a white undershirt and gray prison-issue boxers. Everything is stained with blood. The Joker doesn’t resist as Batman drags the uniform down to his waist and then grabs the bottom of his undershirt. He pulls the undershirt up over the Joker’s head and tosses it to the floor.

Taped to his flank is a metal strip filed down to a sharp edge. His earlier search for weapons had been thorough, but not that thorough. Batman peels the tape off and pockets the blade. The Joker’s side is bruised dark purple from armpit to hip. Batman takes the Joker’s shoulder and pulls him away from the wall, getting a good look at his back. There are no more weapons there, just a few more bruises and a scrape. Nothing serious.

Pushing him back against the wall, Batman peels the uniform down to the Joker’s ankles, keeping one hand on the Joker’s arm to keep him from sliding down again. The Joker seems to be able to keep himself upright, although he sways a little.

No point in putting it off. Batman takes the waistband of the boxers and yanks those down too, then runs his gloved hand up the inside of the Joker’s thighs quickly and methodically. There is another blade taped to the inside of his thigh, which at least means he wasn’t doing this for nothing. He takes that knife as well. The Joker’s head is tipped down, watching him, his hair dripping. Batman stands up again.

“Do you have any other weapons?” Batman asks him. The Joker says nothing. Batman reaches up and turns off the shower.

The last of the blood is swirling down the drain. Batman helps the Joker step out of the clothes around his ankles and then grabs a towel from the end of the cot, quickly and roughly rubbing the Joker dry. There is a set of clothes on the cot as well. Batman lets the Joker sink down to sit on the edge of the cot, then helps him into the clothes. The sedative seems to be wearing off a little because the Joker is able to dress himself.

As soon as he’s dressed, Batman secures him with the soft restraints that are attached to the cot. The restraints are strong enough to handle quite a bit of a struggle, but are soft enough not to irritate the scrapes on the Joker’s wrists. Batman secures him at the wrist and ankle, then grabs the wet Arkham uniform from the floor and wrings it out over the drain. When it’s passably dry, he takes it out of the room, locking the door behind him as he goes.

Alfred is waiting for him at the computer array, taking off his coat. “It went well?” he asks quietly, looking hopeful.

Batman grimaces. “He’s here,” he says, tossing the clothes in a pile on the table.

Alfred had encouraged him to take this mission when Gordon asked. Bruce would never have expected it off him, but apparently even Alfred thought that his retirement was unhealthy. Perhaps if Bruce had had someone to retire with—like Rachel—then his time away from Batman would have been easier, but with Rachel dead, his life had been empty. The billionaire playboy façade was fine when it was an alter ego, but not when it was his life.

“How long will he be here?” Alfred puts a bag of groceries on the table next to the clothes and starts unpacking the bag.

“I honestly have no idea,” Batman says glumly, peeling off his gloves. He takes off the mask and cowl, rubbing at his sweaty hair. “We weren’t talking about end dates when we planned this. Gordon just wanted him out of Arkham until he tracked down whoever put the price on Joker’s head.”

“The hostages were all recovered safely,” Alfred reports, opening the small fridge against the wall and beginning to pack it.

Batman sighs in relief. He would have been devastated if the hostages had been killed while he was on this ridiculous mission. “I’m glad.”

“They’re saying fourteen dead inmates, and they’re counting the Joker among that number,” Alfred says.

“Without a body?”

“They found one inmate dismembered in the laundry chute, so I imagine they think the Joker’s body is somewhere equally, ah, creative.”

Batman opens a drawer full of medical supplies and takes out a sterilized package of needles and thread. “I’m going to tend his wounds. You don’t have to stay.”

“Have you eaten?”

Batman gives him a wry smile. “You know the answer.” He takes a local anesthetic from the drawer as well, then pulls his cowl and mask back on, leaving his gloves off.

“Very well,” Alfred says. Batman heads back to the room, taking a chair with him.

The Joker’s eyes move to him as soon as he comes into the room. Batman lets the door shut and then moves over to the cot, setting the chair down and sitting in it. With the door shut, he can’t hear the sounds of Alfred moving around, which is good. He didn’t want the Joker to be able to know Alfred was there.

“I’m going to stitch up those cuts,” Batman says, taking the cap off the syringe and holding the Joker’s chin in one hand. The Joker tries to twist his face away but Batman holds him tightly and injects the local anesthetic into one cheek, then the other. He puts the syringe on the floor next to the chair, out of reach of the Joker, and grabs for a bottle of antiseptic. He pours some onto a cotton ball and swabs the wound with it and then rips open the package of needles. He threads one.

“You took me from Arkham,” the Joker says a little fuzzily. Batman leans in and studies the cut on the left side of his mouth.

“You were in danger,” Batman says. He’s done stitches on himself before, and this looks like it’ll be simple. He begins to stitch the wound shut carefully. It will scar, but there’s nothing he can do about that. He’s not a plastic surgeon. Perhaps Alfred would be better for this job but Batman is not going to risk bringing Alfred into this room.

The Joker snorts. Batman catches his gaze. The Joker is taking advantage of their proximity to study his face. Batman ignores it and continues making neat stitches. He can feel knots of scar tissue on the inside of the Joker’s cheeks from the old wound. This wound seems clean enough, although he’s probably going to have to get some antibiotics because there’s no telling what sort of dirty weapon the attacker used.

He reaches the corner of the Joker’s lips, then ties of the thread and starts on the other side. The Joker’s breath comes slow and shallow. His teeth are pressing against Batman’s hand. If he bites down, Batman has no qualms about stabbing him with the needle in a place that isn’t anesthetized. In fact, he looks forward to it.

He finishes the other cheek and knots the thread, then tapes sterile gauze over the wounds. The Joker flexes his mouth a little.

“You’ll be staying here for a while,” Batman says, gathering up the needles and thread and syringe and getting up.

“In your… _loving_ care?” the Joker slurs, tilting his head to watch Batman go. Batman’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t answer. He locks the door shut when he leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

_“I’ve increased your anti-psychotic medication,” the doctor informs the Joker when he comes in. “Let me know if you see any changes or if there are any problems.”_

 _The guards make the Joker sit down in his chair. There is no girl in the room this time, which seems to relax the Joker somewhat._

 _“I thought that it might be helpful to work on some reality checks,” the doctor says. “You may have heard of this idea before. It’s just a checklist you can keep in your head so when you are having trouble telling whether what you’re experiencing is real or not, you can look for clues and check them off. Do you understand?”_

 _“Yes.”_

 _“Great.” The doctor shuffles some papers on his desk. “Let’s see. Some of these may sound strange but believe me, they work. First, if you’re having trouble with reality, try to look at the time on a digital clock. Often during a psychotic episode it will seem that the time has changed randomly, or the numbers have been replaced with strange symbols. This is less apparent on an analog clock.”_

 _“There aren’t any clocks in the building,” the Joker says flatly._

 _“Well, bear with me. You could also look at your hands and count your fingers to see if you have more or less than five, or you can try to look in a mirror and see if your reflection is blurred or distorted or frightening. These are all things that can change sometimes in a psychotic break. You see any of these clues, you’ll know that you aren’t perceiving reality very well.”_

 _“What’s the point in knowing that it’s not real?”_

 _“The hallucinations will have less control over you when you understand that they’re not real,” the doctor says patiently._

 _“Fine.”_

 _“But I want you to understand that if you ever have trouble telling what’s real and what’s not, just ask me. I will be able to tell you. Of course, I know this means you would have to trust me, so we’ll work on that.”_

 _The Joker laces his fingers together between his knees, looking completely unimpressed. The chains on his wrists jingle._

 _“I know we’ve been dealing with some hard topics recently, so how about you chose the topic you want us to talk about?” the doctor suggests._

 _The Joker just looks at him._

 _“You’re here for the rest of your life,” the doctor adds. “It’ll get a little boring if we never talk about anything at all.”_

 _“Life unless you give me a clean bill of health,” the Joker says._

 _“Of course,” the doctor says indulgently. “There is always that.”_

##

The news embellishes on the reported death of the Joker with old footage of two ferries in the harbor; the wreckage of Gotham General Hospital; the chaos at the funeral of Commissioner Loeb. Bruce sits at his computer array and watches expressionlessly as they flash pictures of Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes and all of the other seventeen victims personally killed by the Joker. It’s not as if he needs the reminder. There hasn’t been a day so far where he forgot what happened. What the Joker did to Gotham and to Bruce Wayne.

Just putting on this costume again has been excruciating. Maybe he should tell Gordon that this is his final mission. He’d hoped that doing something productive would distract him from everything, but it was just the opposite. Being Batman brought everything back up to the surface. It’s almost like his life was put on hold when he took off the suit one year ago, and now that he's put it on again, he is right back there in the absolute devastation that was the Joker’s reign over the city.

Alfred had left him lunch and dinner in the fridge. There’s a second cot set up against the far wall that he will be sleeping in, and a second bathroom in a small closet at the end of the room. Bruce will be staying here as long as the Joker does. The Joker is too dangerous to leave alone. Bruce can’t take the risk that he will escape.

He honestly doesn’t know what Gordon is planning with this whole affair. Batman obviously can’t keep the Joker here forever. Hopefully they’ll be able to move him to a different prison soon, one outside of the influence of Gotham City. It will be nice to know that the Joker is far from Gotham.

His cell phone beeps on the table. Batman gets up from his seat in front of the computer array answers it. “Gordon.”

“Do you have him?” The man’s voice sounds tired.

“Yes. What’s next?”

“The news about him being dead is helpful. People should stop looking for him. I’m going to work on getting him quietly transferred. I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

“I’ll be here.” Batman says.

“Thanks for doing this,” Gordon says. “Believe me, I know what it costs. I kept thinking about what the consequences might have been if we’d just let him die.”

“None whatsoever,” Batman says.

Gordon laughs softly. “That’s the number I came up with, too. But I guess I always liked being difficult. I’ll call you.”

Batman hangs up and settles back in his chair. It would have been easier to let the Joker die. Of course, it would have been easier the first time, too, when he threw the Joker over the edge of the Prewitt Building. His reasons in both cases are the same. If he lets the Joker die when he is capable of saving him, it is as good as murder and it isn’t allowing the law to enact the necessary justice. The Joker earned himself a life sentence at Arkham Asylum and Batman is going to make sure his life is as long as possible.

##

 _The next tape is dated two days later. The Joker is looking tired and drawn. He has circles under his eyes. The doctor makes a note in his book._

 _“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”_

 _The Joker’s mouth is pressed into a thin, annoyed line and he doesn’t say anything. The doctor sighs._

 _“I can increase the dose of the sedative to help you sleep.”_

 _“It gives me bad dreams,” the Joker says shortly._

 _“Oh?” The doctor sounds interested. “About what?”_

 _The Joker doesn’t respond._

 _“Alright, well I have something we can talk about. You stabbed another inmate last night in the showers.”_

 _The Joker shrugs. “I was having a bad day.”_

 _“That was your reason?”_

 _“Isn’t it enough?”_

 _“Yesterday you mentioned my giving you a clean bill of health.” The doctor laces his hands on the desk top. “I don’t think that’s a possibility with incidents like this.”_

 _“Can’t a guy have a bad day around here?”_

 _“What made it a bad day?”_

 _“It just was.”_

 _“Was it because of the dreams?”_

 _Silence._

 _“Are they bad dreams about all different things, or are they all about the same subject?”_

 _The Joker lifts his chin. “Didn’t I already tell you what my dream was about?”_

 _“You’re still dreaming about my daughter?”_

 _The Joker’s eyes jerk to the corner of the room. “Too bad it’s not take-your-daughter-to-work day again.”_

 _“Pardon?”_

 _The Joker’s eyes return to the doctor, looking amused at the doctor’s chilly voice. “You should bring her in again. I could tell her about my dreams.”_

 _“Again?”_

 _Something flickers in the Joker’s eyes. He looks at the doctor._

 _“I never bring my daughter to work,” the doctor says._

 _“You brought her in here three days ago,” the Joker says woodenly._

 _“In to a session with you?” The doctor sounds a little disbelieving. “You think I would bring my daughter in to a maximum security mental institution to a private session with you? After you told me your dream about raping her?”_

 _The Joker is silent. He almost looks uncertain._

 _“I’m going to adjust your medication,” the doctor says, making a note in his notepad. “Can you tell me anything else about what you saw? Did she say anything?”_

 _There is silence. The doctor puts down his pen._

 _“I know it’s a little scary when your reality shifts like this, but we’re going to deal with it together. Remember, if you ever have troubles with reality, you can always ask me.”_

##

Batman returns to the cell a few hours later, when the clock tells him it's seven in the evening. The Joker turns his head as soon as Batman opens the door.

The Joker isn’t looking very good. The flesh around the gauze is red and swollen, making the rest of him look even more sickly pale. Batman sets the bowl of lukewarm soup on the chair by the bed and looks down at him. He opens his hand to reveal two pills.

“Antibiotics,” he says. “You’re going to swallow them.”

The Joker obediently opens his mouth and Batman tips in the pills, then helps the Joker sit up a little to take a drink of the water. As soon as the Joker finishes the water, Batman takes the bowl of soup.

“You can eat this now, or I can force feed it to you through a tube,” Batman said. “I understand they have a similar policy at Arkham.”

The Joker’s eyes meet his coldly, although he doesn’t say anything, which tells Batman how much his face must hurt. Batman lifts a spoonful of soup to the Joker’s lips and the Joker carefully swallows it down.

Batman silently feeds the soup to the Joker, ignoring how the Joker seems to be studying his face intently again. He lets himself examine the Joker instead. It is the first time that he has actually seen the Joker without his makeup on. He looks younger without it, probably very close to Batman’s age. His eyes are dark green with a halo of gold around the pupil. His hair has dried into tangled curls, dark at the roots and brassy bleached blond and green further out.

When the bowl is empty, Batman puts it aside and checks the restrains at the Joker’s wrists and ankles.

“I’m going to leave you here for the night,” he says. “But I’m going to give you a little more room to maneuver.”

He unties one wrist strap and then steps back from the cot. The Joker immediately starts untying the other wrist strap. Batman turns and leaves the room, locking the door behind himself.

##

 _“Are you trying to bribe me?” the Joker asks when the guards leave again._

 _“What do you mean?” the doctor returns cheerfully._

 _“There’s money in my account.”_

 _The doctor inhales. “Yes, I was behind that. I noticed that your account was very low. I know that you haven’t been allowed to start a job here yet.”_

 _“Because I’m too violent,” the Joker says._

 _“Yes, that is the reason they’ve give me.”_

 _“And so you’re rewarding me for that.”_

 _The doctor laughs, sounding amused. “Well, I suppose it could be seen that way. I felt that they were being a bit harsh in not letting you work or earn money. A lot of patients in here are violent, but I think a few of the people in authority here have a…well, they know your reputation.”_

 _“So you’re on my side,” the Joker says dryly._

 _“I_ am _on your side,” the doctor says earnestly. “I want you to understand that. I want what’s best for you, whatever that may be. I felt that putting money into your account was a demonstration of how I care for your wellbeing.”_

 _“And if I answer more of your questions, I’ll get more of your money?”_

 _The doctor folds his hands on his desk. “If I can see that you’re investing yourself in contributing to your own wellbeing, which includes putting in an effort in these sessions, then I will continue to contribute to that wellbeing as well.”_

 _A smirk hovers at the edges of the Joker’s mouth. “Okay.”_

 _“Good. Now I want to get started on our topic for the day. Can we talk a little bit about your past? Say, your education? Did you complete high school?”_

 _The Joker studies the doctor for a moment before answering. “Yes,” he says._

 _The doctor nods. “What did you do after high school?”_

 _“I worked.”_

 _“Where did you work?”_

 _A pause. “I don’t remember.”_

 _“Do you remember any details at all? People you might have known, places you might have been?”_

 _“It wasn’t in Gotham.”_

 _“When did you come to Gotham?”_

 _“Two years ago.”_

 _The doctor makes a note. “What made you come?”_

 _“I saw a business opportunity.”_

 _“You robbed a bank.”_

 _“Yes.”_

 _“Now how about we work backward from that? You arrived in Gotham two years ago. Where did you come from?”_

 _“I traveled a lot.”_

 _“Were you working a legitimate job at the time or no?”_

 _The Joker smiles a little. “For some reason, people never seem to want to hire me.”_

 _“Why do you think that is?”_

 _The Joker’s smile widens. “My sparkling wit.”_

 _“Would you say that you worked under the table for a lot of jobs?”_

 _“Most of them.”_

 _“Were you ever arrested?”_

 _“No.”_

 _“Never?”_

 _“No.”_

 _The doctor pauses, then nods, obviously accepting the answer even though he doesn’t quite believe it. “Did you travel before graduating high school?”_

 _“No.”_

 _“Where did you go to school?”_

 _A silent shrug._

 _“You don’t remember, or you don’t want to tell me?” The doctor waits a beat, then adds, “Did you stay in one town growing up, or did you move?”_

 _“Moved,” the Joker says, appearing suddenly less interested in answering questions._

 _“Alright.” The doctor seems to sense his reluctance. “Did your family move often?”_

 _Silence. This time there is no response from the Joker. The doctor waits a full moment, letting the silence stretch, then nods._

 _“Okay. Well, I’m very pleased with this conversation. You’ve been very open. Do you want to move on to a different topic? Perhaps we can talk about prison. This was your first time being arrested?”_

 _“Yes.”_

 _“Is this your first time in a mental institution?”_

 _Silence again, this time even colder. The Joker stares at the doctor, unblinking._

 _“Yet you don’t have any records in the system.”_

 _It’s obvious that the Joker has no intention in answering this line of questioning either. The doctor nods._

 _“Have the dreams gotten any better?”_

 _The Joker’s eyes flicker to the corner of the room, where the girl had stood several sessions before._

 _“No,” he says._

##

One of the monitors in the computer array shows video camera footage from the inside of the Joker’s room, and Batman keeps a close eye on it for the next several hours as he goes through news of the prison riot and starts the task of getting access to the Joker’s medical records. He is going to have to find out what sorts of medication the Joker was taking so he can approximate it here. The last thing he needs is some sort of psychotic break. It’s probably not a good thing that the Joker has gone all day without his medication, but the prison riot had forced him to act before he was ready.

The Joker frees himself immediately from the cot and slowly explores the whole room. Bruce didn’t have a lot of time to comb the whole room for weapon opportunities, so he watches the Joker. If the Joker wants to hurt himself, Bruce will not be able to stop him. The Joker doesn’t seem to have any history of suicidal ideation but Bruce isn’t going to make assumptions at this point.

The medical records are highly confidential but it’s not difficult to track them down. The Joker was being treated by a doctor named Dr. Garrett, who saw him three days a week and had prescribed a list of medication as long as Bruce’s arm. The diagnosis seems to be schizoaffective disorder.

There are notes on the Joker’s therapy sessions, but as Bruce continues to look through Dr. Garrett’s files, he notices something better. There are videos.

##

 _“You had a bad day yesterday, didn’t you?” the doctor asks._

 _The Joker still looks wan, although he’s more alert than he was. He says nothing._

 _“Do you remember stabbing that guard?”_

 _“Yes,” the Joker hisses. His hair is in his eyes again._

 _“Do you remember why?”_

 _Silence again. The Joker shakes his head sharply._

 _“You don’t remember?”_

 _“I think I dreamed about him,” the Joker says, his voice clipped._

 _“You killed him because you dreamed about him?” The doctor sounds curious._

 _The Joker nods, but looks distracted. He is rocking a little in the chair, as if there has been a sharp change in his medication._

 _“I haven’t seen you this agitated in a while,” the doctor points out. “You weren’t this upset after you attacked that patient a week ago.”_

 _The Joker’s lips pull down but he doesn’t say anything. The doctor heaves a sigh._

 _“It’s hard to have a conversation when there’s only one of us talking,” he says wryly. “You haven’t had problems telling me about the people you’ve attacked or killed in the past.”_

 _“I could kill you,” the Joker says suddenly, his eyes fixing on the doctor._

 _“Do you think so?” the doctor asks, not moving._

 _The Joker holds up his handcuffs. “They don’t strap me to the chair.”_

 _“These sessions are being monitored,” the doctor points out. “There are guards just outside this door. They would be in here in seconds, and you wouldn’t enjoy the consequences.”_

 _“But you would still be dead,” the Joker says, voice soft._

 _“Yes.”_

 _“I could strangle you with my handcuffs.”_

 _“Can I ask you why you’d want to?”_

 _The Joker draws breath to answer but then doesn’t say anything._

 _“Are these sessions making you uncomfortable? Is that why?”_

 _“I hate doctors,” the Joker agrees._

 _“I think these sessions have been going well. I think we’ve made some progress. For example, you’re telling me you want to kill me rather than actually killing me.”_

 _“I still haven’t made up my mind,” the Joker says._

 _“What’s keeping you?”_

 _The Joker is silent._

 _The doctor rests his elbows on the desk and leans forward. “Can I offer you a possible explanation? I think that you brought this up because you’ve been threatened by these sessions. We’ve been covering some very distressing territory. You don’t want to face the answers to these questions, and why should you?”_

 _“My thoughts exactly,” the Joker says dryly._

 _“You think that killing me, or just threatening me, might be enough to get some control over the situation and stop it. You feel that I’m attacking you and you want to fight back. But killing me wouldn’t make anything better. It wouldn’t make you any more comfortable to confront your past, and you’ll just have to start all over again with the next doctor.”_

 _“I think if I kill enough of them, they’ll back off,” the Joker points out._

 _“Maybe. Is that what you want? For us to give up on you?”_

 _The Joker gives him a dubious look, as if he’s not quite sure that the doctor hasn’t already given up on him. He doesn’t say anything, The doctor leans back in his seat._

 _“Honestly I think even this is progress,” he says. “I’m glad that you thought enough of me that you wanted to confide your secret in me.”_

 _The Joker licks the corner of his mouth. “I don’t usually get that response.”_

 _“I’d like to think that I’m different from most people,” the doctor says._

##

The Joker doesn’t seem to sleep at all. He paces the room almost obsessively. Bruce finds himself watching the monitor more often than not, until finally even he needs to get some sleep. He crashes on the cot for a couple hours, then gets up and makes coffee and toast. The Joker is still pacing.

He eats in front of the computer monitors, reading the morning’s headlines, especially the coverage of the prison riot. The coverage is almost entirely about the Joker, and reading it is almost like punishing himself. It hurts to read about Harvey and Rachel and all of the events that the Joker had his hand in, and it makes him angrier knowing that the Joker is in the room just ten feet away. He saved this man’s life _twice_. The thought makes him sick.

He puts off breakfast until ten in the morning before finally tossing some dry toast on a napkin and pouring some black coffee into a paper cup. He sets it on the table and pulls on his Batman costume, making sure it’s all in place before heading to the door of the cell.

He slides open the metal plate over the viewing window and glances into the room. The pacing stops immediately. The Joker turns to face the door, his eyes meeting Batman’s in the window.

“Go back to the far wall,” Batman says. The Joker doesn’t move for a moment, but then he retreats to the wall. Batman unlocks the door and steps into the room.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“So afraid, Bats?” the Joker asks, his voice muffled a little by the gauze. He turns around and crosses his wrists behind his back. Batman cuffs him.

“I’m going to check your stitches,” he says, turning the Joker around again. He takes the corner of the gauze and yanks it off. The Joker hisses as it pulls away from his skin.

The stitches still don’t look too good, although it’s been less than a day. Batman pulls off the gauze on the other side.

“Looks like it’s going to scar,” he says dryly. “Who did this to you?”

“Some people think they’re funny.” The Joker has no expression.

“Lay down,” Batman says, taking the Joker’s arm and roughly pushing him towards the bed. The Joker stumbles a little but doesn’t sit on the bed.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.” Batman tosses away the dirty gauze and takes one of the Joker’s bound arms, forcibly sitting him down on the bed. The Joker snarls and kicks at him. Batman takes one of the soft restraints and ties it around the Joker’s wrist. As soon as the Joker realizes what he’s doing, he struggles harder, almost yanking out of Batman’s grip.

“It’s breakfast time,” Batman says, shoving him back down. “I don’t need to feed you at all, you know.”

He uncuffs the Joker, then gets the other wrist strap on him. Although it’s not necessary, he takes pleasure in strapping the Joker’s ankles down as well before he goes back out of the room and returns with the coffee, which is lukewarm, and the toast, which is cold.

“You’re enjoying this,” the Joker spits at him.

“Wasting my time on you? Absolutely,” Batman replies, tearing off a piece of toast and pushing it into the Joker’s mouth. The Joker swallows it.

“You like tying someone down and growling at them and making them do what you want,” the Joker says. “I bet you’re some mild-mannered businessman out of that suit. You get stepped on all day so you want to step on others.”

Batman doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. He breaks off another piece of toast. The Joker turns his face away. Batman grabs his chin and turns his face back.

“Maybe I’m enjoying it a little,” Batman says with a faint smirk, pushing the toast into the Joker’s mouth.

The Joker swallows and then huffs out a noise of pain. “Give someone just a little taste of power and they become insane for it like you.”

“I’m insane for power?” Batman feeds him the rest of the toast and then picks up the cup of coffee.

“Don’t feel special. Everyone is. You’re just expressing it in cold breakfast food.”

Batman feels a spark of embarrassment but he ignores it. He holds the coffee out to the Joker while the Joker drinks it.

“I lost track of time,” Batman says.

The Joker’s eyes flicker over him. “If you have power, you abuse it. If you don’t have power, you get abused.”

“You’d do worse if our positions were reversed,” Batman points out.

“What can I say? I like being on the other side of the handcuffs.”

The coffee cup is empty. Batman takes it away and stands. “You won’t get that chance ever again.”

“Are you going to make sure of that?”

Batman points at him. “This is still police custody. I don’t have any control over your fate. The law does.”

The Joker makes an exaggerated show of looking around. “I don’t see any other cops.”

“You will.” Batman heads for the door.

“Are you going to untie me?” the Joker calls after him.

Batman shuts the door behind himself.

##

The bunker is starting to feel a little claustrophobic so when Batman gets a call from Gordon letting him know that he has tracked down all of the Joker’s medications, Batman heads out immediately and meets him on top of City Hall.

It’s only a few days before Valentine’s Day, and the city is gray and cold. There is a thin layer of sleet over everything but at the moment the sky seems content to squeeze out a few actual snowflakes. The storefronts all have red and pink displays and big lacy hearts.

“I’m working on getting rid of him,” Gordon says by way of apology when Batman arrives on the roof. He holds out the bag of pill bottles and Batman takes them. “We’re narrowing down who put the hit out on him. I think we’ll probably transfer him to a hospital out of state. It would be better all around. We wouldn’t have to worry about the asylum staff having family members who were killed by the Joker.”

“It’s not something I’ve been losing sleep over,” Batman says.

Gordon laughs wearily. His nose is red from the cold. “No. I promise, I’ll get him out of your hair soon.”

“Fine,” Batman says. “I can handle him.”

“You’ve been very helpful. I can’t say I wouldn’t have killed him already,” Gordon admits.

“He’ll be fine,” Batman says seriously. He wishes he had the luxury of killing the man. It would be so much easier.

##

The Joker is staring at the ceiling in his room, apparently wide awake. Batman watches him in the monitor for a while before opening the bag of medication and parceling it out. He has enough here for a week, which should be enough. He’s not sure he’ll be able to take more than a week.

The doctor had put the Joker on a strict regimen of anti-psychotics and sedatives and mood-stabilizing drugs. Batman counts out the right amount and then returns to the room, taking a deep breath just outside the door. He is not going to rise to the Joker’s provocation.

The Joker’s head turns towards him when Batman comes in. Batman shuts the door behind himself and then approaches the cot.

“It’s time for your meds.”

 “Can’t we go without?”

“No.”

The Joker’s eyes are fixed on Batman’s hand. Batman sits down next to the cot and shows the Joker the medication in his hand.

The Joker’s eyes flick up to his face. “I don’t need them. I got through last night fine. I don’t need them.”

Batman holds out a glass of water. “You’re going to take all of them. I’m going to check.”

The Joker’s teeth clack shut, an obvious challenge. Batman sighs and turns away from the bed. He heads back out in the main room of the bunker and grabs some tubing from the table, then returns.

“I don’t need to fight with you about this,” Batman says, holding up the tubing. “Remember when I told you that I could feed you through a tube if I wanted? That goes for the pills as well. I can do it this way, or you can take the pills. Believe me, force feeding you is probably going to hurt your stitches a lot more than just taking the pills to begin with.”

The Joker looks at the tubing, his mouth still firmly shut. He has no expression so Batman can’t tell whether he’s impressed with the threat or if he’s willing to keep going. Finally, the Joker nods his head.

“I’ll take them.”

Batman sets down the tubing and then comes over to the bed. He tips two pills into the Joker’s mouth and then helps him drink the water before giving him two more. The Joker lays with his eyes fixed on Batman’s face again, a gaze so intense that Batman is uncomfortable. When the Joker has swallowed all six, Batman pushes the finger of his gauntlet into the Joker’s mouth, checking under his tongue and inside his cheeks for the pills.

The Joker’s teeth clamp down hard on his finger and Batman swears. The gauntlet absorbs most of the force of the bite but it’s still painful. He tries to yank his hand free and the Joker clings tenaciously.

The Joker’s hand swings up, free of the restraint, and something slams into Batman’s jaw, exploding pain through his face. He recoils, finally yanking his finger out of the Joker’s mouth. The Joker sits up in the cot, slicing through the other restraint with the sharp piece of metal in his hand. Blood sheets down Batman’s neck.

Batman slams the Joker’s head into the wall, one of his hands on the cut in his neck. It didn’t hit the artery so he should be okay. The Joker slashes out at him again but Batman blocks it with his arm. The Joker cuts through the restraints on his feet and scrambles out of the cot.

Batman body-slams him into the cot again, grabbing for his hand with the blade in it. The Joker stabs him in the gauntlet and it slices through to his skin. Batman slams his forehead into the Joker’s face and then manages to grab the knife from the Joker when his grip goes momentarily slack.

He hauls the Joker out of the cot, slamming him into the floor onto his stomach. He takes a zip cuff from his belt and roughly cuffs the Joker.

“That wasn’t a smart move,” he snarls into the Joker’s ear, before taking out the blade. He puts it into the collar of the Joker’s shirt and starts to tear.

He cuts the shirt and off the Joker, flinging away the tattered pieces. The blade has been roughly fashioned from a broken piece of the light fixture. The Joker must have gotten it some time in the night, or perhaps just now when he was visiting Gordon. Batman checks the Joker’s chest and arms and neck for any hidden weapons, then digs the knife into the waistband of the Joker’s pants and cuts that off as well.

The Joker is breathing heavily and struggling underneath Batman, his fingers clawing at the panels of his armor. His body is wiry and pale and knotted with tension. Batman puts the knife into his belt and then forces the Joker’s thighs apart roughly with his knees before he resumes his check for weapons.

“Are you hiding another weapon?” Batman’s hand is clamped onto the back of the Joker’s neck, pressing his face into the cement floor.

The Joker doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed blindly on the cement, his nostrils flaring as he sucks in air. Batman grimaces and then puts one gauntleted finger between the Joker’s legs.

He doesn’t want to do it but if he is going to make sure the Joker is unarmed, he has to check everywhere. He pushes his finger inside and the Joker snarls, thrashing under him. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of weapon hidden in there, which is partly a relief and partly an annoyance that he had to do that for nothing. He withdraws his finger.

“I wasn’t going to sedate you again, but I guess I have to,” he says coldly, letting go of the Joker and getting to his feet. The sedatives are still out in the other room. He moves quickly, and by the time he gets back to the cell, the Joker is only on his knees. He starts to scramble for the bed when Batman reaches the room but Batman is faster, and he injects the sedative into the Joker’s thigh. The Joker’s head dips down, his limbs going slack. Batman lifts him up onto the cot and leaves him there.

##

It isn’t necessary to keep the Joker with his hands cuffed behind his back, but Batman does it anyway, leaving him in the cot for the next several hours while he watches on the monitor and catches up on the news and eats lunch. He is completely aware that he’s being petty and is only doing it as a power trip, but from his point of view, these little power trips are all that’s keeping him from killing the Joker, or doing him some serious harm.

The Joker sleeps for the next few hours, unmoving on the bed. Bruce keeps checking the monitor to make sure he’s still out of it. When his temper has calmed a little and once he has dealt with his own injuries, he heads back into the cell and removes the light fixture entirely, then dismantles the cot and takes that out as well, leaving the Joker on a blanket on the floor. If the Joker is going to turn his things into weapons, he doesn’t deserve to have them.


	3. Chapter 3

The commercials in between segments of the news are all about Valentine’s Day. Happy couple after happy couple spin across the screen, giving each other flowers and chocolates and jewelry. Bruce sits at the array, almost hypnotized.

He rarely celebrates Valentine’s Day. He’s never had relationships that lasted long enough for it to be an issue. He rarely even notices its passing. But in the year since Rachel’s death, every holiday has taken on a new meaning. This is another holiday that they will never celebrate together. It makes him feel the loss anew.

It’s been a year since Rachel and Harvey died and the Joker was arrested. Less than eight months since the sensational trial and the sentencing. Batman had watched all of it, though it made him sick.

Somehow, the deaths of Rachel and Harvey had been worse than his parents. Thinking about it that way seems almost sacrilegious, but it’s true. His parents’ deaths had ripped his life in half. There had been the funeral and the outpouring of support. Yet he had been so young that within a very few years, he barely had any memory of what life had been like when they were still alive. He only knew his parents for eight years, and for most of that he had been too young to appreciate what he had.

He had known Rachel for twenty-five years and he had loved her just as much as he had loved his parents, sometimes more. He had loved her _longer_ , and he had planned to start his life with her. He had a million little memories of their time together, as children and as adults.

Harvey’s death hurt in a different way. It wasn’t just that Harvey had died, although that hurt too. In time, Bruce was sure he could have counted Harvey as a close friend. What hurt was what Harvey had become in the end there. He had turned from a savior to just a twisted, angry man.

Their deaths were stupid and preventable. The number of times he had dreamed about doing something different, making it a little faster to save them…

Bruce rubs his face and derails this train of thought. It will only upset him again, and he has spent enough time being upset about this whole situation. He can’t afford to get angry about this and do something that he might regret.

##

 _“Do you have anyone you consider a friend?” the doctor asks._

 _He’s not sitting behind his desk. He’s leaning against the front of his, his ankles crossed, looking relaxed. This is the most he has ever been visible on camera, but his head is out of the frame._

 _The Joker seems to consider the question, rolling his lips under and studying the doctor. “Do you want me to say you?”_

 _The doctor laughs. “I would like to be your friend, but I want you to tell me the truth.”_

 _“No.”_

 _“Have you_ ever _had friends?”_

 _“Is this a popularity contest?”_

 _“Maybe my phrasing is a little harsh. Have you ever had anyone you felt you could talk to about things that were important to you?”_

 _The Joker licks the corner of his mouth. “I’ve told people things.”_

 _“Things that were important to you? Like what?”_

 _The Joker tilts his head to the side. “I don’t think you’re enough of a friend for me to tell you.”_

 _The doctor laughs again. “That’s unfortunate. But that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious what kind of person you consider a friend. When you think back about them, do they have anything in common?”_

 _The Joker makes a show of thinking. “All of them died young,” he says finally._

 _“Did they have anything else in common? Personality traits…”_

 _“They never asked annoying questions.”_

 _“They didn’t want to know anything about you?”_

 _“That’s not what I said, doc.”_

 _“Perhaps not. But answer me. Did they have any interest in your personal life story? Did they ask you questions?”_

 _“I don’t remember,” the Joker says distractedly, looking away. He is obviously annoyed with this line of questioning again._

 _“That’s okay. We’ll talk about something else.”_

##

Bruce pauses the video and takes a breath, looking around the room. The lights overhead are glaringly bright, which takes away all sense of time in here. He has no idea if it’s day or night. His watch says it’s three, and he’s pretty sure that means afternoon.

The screen is frozen with the Joker looking directly at the doctor, his expression stormy. Bruce rests his elbows on the desk and stares at the pixelated image, feeling conflicted.

He feels like a voyeur watching these videos. It is a side of the Joker he hasn’t seen before; unhinged, overmedicated, not quite in control of himself. When Batman had to face the Joker, the Joker was at his best, completely in control of everything that was going on. At the trials, the Joker still presented this image of himself to the public. But these videos were, as far as the Joker knew, just between him and his doctor. It is almost sad to watch these videos and see the Joker without his mask on.

The videos have a surreal quality to them as well, and it takes Bruce a while to figure out why. Things keep changing in the room: the chair on which the Joker sits is sometimes dark-colored and sometimes light-colored. Occasionally the lamp is on the other side of the room. Sometimes the doctor writes with his left hand, and sometimes his right. They’re small enough not to be obvious, and the changes niggled at the back of Bruce’s mind, making him doubt his own memory until he went back and checked the previous videos. If they had that effect on him, he can’t imagine how it would feel if he had a history of hallucinations. The doctor is deliberately changing the details to throw the Joker off balance. It would almost seem innocuous except for the incident with the little girl, who was really in the room. Why the doctor would try to convince the Joker that he had hallucinated the event is unclear, but it’s obvious that he’s up to something.

Bruce puts the doctor’s name into a search engine and checks to see if anything comes up. When that fails to bring up anything of interest, he checks the hospital’s personnel records and there it is: the doctor’s wife was a cop, and she was killed by the Joker in the attempt on Harvey Dent’s life last year. So the doctor _does_ have a grudge. At the moment, Bruce can’t really blame him for playing his little game. True, it’s unprofessional, but there doesn’t seem to be much harm in it.

The Joker is awake in his room. He has curled up on his side and has brought his cuffed arms around in front of himself. He seems restless, tossing and turning on the floor and possibly talking to himself. The monitor has no sound on it so he can’t make out what the Joker is saying, but he seems to be keeping up a continuous narration of something. For the first time, he looks really and truly crazy and Bruce feels distaste.

When it comes time for dinner, Bruce reheats the rice and vegetables that Alfred left for him and eats it, then spoons some into a styrofoam bowl for the Joker. He puts on his costume again, which has been cleaned of blood, and steels himself. Perhaps he’ll have to come up with some other method of feeding the Joker that doesn’t require direct contact.

He heads back into the cell. The Joker stiffens immediately, looking up at him. Batman stands in the door for a second, then comes over to him.

“It’s dinnertime,” he says.

“You took my bed,” the Joker replies.

“It was a privilege, not a right.” Batman puts the bowl down on the floor. “Sorry, utensils are a privilege too.”

“What about bandage changes?”

“I’ll do those after you eat.”

The Joker looks up at him, angry. “No, _you’re_ not insane with power at _all_.”

“If you’re going to attack me, you’re going to have things taken away from you.”

The Joker leans forward slightly. “No bed. No light. No utensils. No _clothes_. Put me back in Arkham, please.”

“You want me to try to kill you, too? Would that make you feel more at home?”

“Everyone abuses their power. No exceptions.”

“I’m not abusing my power,” Batman says in irritation. “You are a _violent criminal_. You tried to _cut my throat_. I am making sure that you’re not a threat to me.”

“ _You had no right,_ ” the Joker shouts. It is loud and startling. Batman stares at him, and then understands.

“They do body cavity searches at Arkham,” he points out.

“Not as a _punishment._ ”

Batman opens his mouth, then closes it. “I couldn’t take the chance that you were hiding a weapon. Would it be better if I sedated you next time?”

The Joker is breathing a little heavily. His eyes are darting around the room. “No,” he says. “No sedation.”

“I can’t promise you that I won’t search you again.”

“Don’t. Sedate. Me,” the Joker says again, every syllable sharp.

“Then don’t. Attack. Me,” Batman replies. He glances down at the bowl of food, then turns away. “I’ll change your bandages after you eat.”

The Joker says nothing as Batman heads to the door. When Batman reaches the doorway, he glances back, remembering the video.

“Did you have bad dreams again?” he asks.

The Joker stares at him, his face blank.

“I didn’t dream,” he says.

##   
After dinner, Bruce changes the Joker’s bandages and then brings him clothes again and a pillow. The Joker says nothing to him the whole time. Bruce cuts the handcuffs and then stands over him as the Joker pulls on the clothes. Once the Joker is dressed, Bruce leaves.

The cell seems to stay silent for a long time, although on the monitor the Joker paces. Bruce goes through his workout routine, then watches more of the videos on the computer. Around one in the morning, he hears the Joker talking.

He looks back at the monitor of the Joker’s cell and sees the Joker sitting in the corner of the room with the blanket. He is talking to himself again. Bruce goes to the door and listens but can’t hear what he’s saying.

Twenty minutes later, the Joker starts throwing up in the toilet and Bruce knows he’s sick. He pulls on his costume again, putting a sedative in his belt again just in case this is just a trick. He opens the door and slips into the room, locking the door behind himself and keeping the key in his pocket.

The Joker is pale and shivering. He wipes at his mouth with a wad of toilet paper, not looking at Batman.

“It’s the meds,” he says, flushing the toilet.

“Did they make you sick before?” Batman asks dubiously. The Joker doesn’t answer. His gaze is flicking around the room, not settling on anything in particular.

“Do you have a fever?” he asks. When the Joker says nothing, he adds, “I’m going to check you for a fever, okay?”

The Joker doesn’t move when Batman pulls off his gauntlet and puts the back of his hand against the Joker’s forehead. His forehead is warm, but he’s shivering violently.

“It’s not the way…” the Joker mutters, and then, lower, “What time is it?”

“It’s five past one,” Batman says. He turns on the shower, adjusting the temperature to get hot water. “Here, take a hot shower. It will stop the shivering.”

The Joker doesn’t move from where he’s crouched on the floor. His gaze keeps flicking to the corner of the room as if there is something over there. Batman glances over uneasily but there is nothing to be seen.

He reaches down and takes the Joker’s arm. “Come on. Get up. Take off your shirt.”

The Joker fumbles with the hem of his shirt, his expression blank. After a moment, Batman reaches down and helps him, folding up the shirt and the pants and leaving them in a neat pile on the floor. When he tries to get the Joker on his feet, the Joker’s legs give out and he has to catch him. He lets the Joker sit on the floor under the warm spray.

“What time is it?” the Joker asks.

“Probably six past one,” Batman says flatly. He carefully pulls the gauze off the wounds on the Joker’s face. The wounds are swollen and red. This must be the source of the fever.

“I didn’t dream,” the Joker says.

“Okay.” Batman retreats to the other room and gets some antibiotics, towels and a second blanket. When he returns, the Joker has turned up the temperature on the shower. The room is filling with steam. Batman turns it back down a little before it can burn the Joker’s skin.

The Joker tips up his face to look at Batman. Batman sets the towels and blanket on the floor next to the pile of the Joker’s clothes. The Joker’s hair is wet and plastered to his face and he is still shivering. The bruises on his side are starting to turn brilliant blue and green.

“Was it real, then?” the Joker asks.

“Was what real?” Batman squats down next to him. The Joker is staring at him. “You have a fever right now. I think you’re a little confused.”

The Joker’s brow furrows a little. He shakes his head, although it seems to be more in response to something Batman didn’t hear than to something Batman said.

“What time is it?” the Joker asks.

Batman sighs. “Seven past one.”

The Joker slaps his hand down on the wet floor. The sound is sharp. The Joker shakes his head again, rocking slightly. Some color is returning to his skin and he has stopped shivering.

“Are you feeling warmer?” Batman asks.

The Joker frowns at him. He tilts his head up and looks at the shower head. Water rains down on his face.

“I am in the shower,” he says carefully.

“Yes.” Batman sits down on the floor. This looks like it’s going to take a while. “You are in the shower. You have a fever. It’s eight past one in the morning.”

The Joker wipes water from his eyes and looks at Batman again, seeming a little more alert.

“I’m hallucinating,” he says.

“You probably are.”

“I’m not in Arkham.”

“No. I took you out of Arkham.”

The Joker nods, his gaze sliding away. “I didn’t dream.”

“Good for you.”

The Joker’s gaze snaps back to him. “If I didn’t dream now, was I dreaming then?”

Batman hesitates. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No.” The Joker looks frustrated. He heaves himself sideways and drunkenly tries to get to his feet, catching a hand on the wall. Batman hastily gets up to help him and the Joker recoils, hitting the wall and then sliding back down it again. He looks up at Batman through the spray, looking confused and, strangely enough, afraid.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Batman says. “I’m going to help you.”

He reaches out and turns off the water. The Joker rolls onto his hands and knees. Batman picks up a towel and holds it out to the Joker. The Joker takes it and stares at it.

Batman sits down on the floor again next to him. “Can I help you?”

The Joker doesn’t respond so Batman takes the other towel and begins toweling the Joker dry, rubbing his hair. After a moment, the Joker takes over. While the Joker finishes drying himself, Batman takes his clothes from the pile on the floor and begins handing them to him. The Joker gets dressed again.

As soon as the Joker is dressed, Batman holds out the antibiotics. The Joker shies away.

“No pills,” he says.

“They’re antibiotics. They’ll take care of your infection,” Batman says.

“No.” The Joker shakes his head, scrambling away. Batman puts the antibiotics back in his pocket. They can wait.

“What time is it?” the Joker asks.

Without answering, Batman gives him the other blanket, then gets to his feet. He goes into the other room and gets his watch and then returns with it, handing it to the Joker.

“There. Now stop asking me,” he says.

The Joker stares down at the watch. It’s a digital watch, and worth more money than most people make in a year, but Batman is pretty sure that it can’t be used as a weapon, so he’s okay with it.

The Joker crawls over to the blanket in the corner and sits on it, the other blanket wrapped around himself.

“Are you going to be okay?” Batman asks.

The Joker doesn’t seem to hear him, staring down at the watch. He’s rocking ever so slightly. Batman would think it was the medication from Arkham but he’s seen most of the videos and the Joker hasn’t acted like this in any of them. This is something new, and it’s disturbing.

Batman looks down at the watch and suddenly remembers the doctor talking in the video. _First, if you’re having trouble with reality, try to look at the time on a digital clock…_

He sits down next to the Joker again, keeping just out of arm’s reach.

“He lied to you, you know,” he says.

The Joker’s eyes flicker over to him briefly. His hair is dripping onto his shoulders.

“Your doctor. He really did bring his daughter into the session with you. He pretended that you were hallucinating it.”

The Joker stares at him. His expression is completely unreadable. “How do you know?” he asks.

“There are videos of your sessions. They were all taped.”

The Joker looks down at the digital watch, his eyes running back and forth over the face. He has no expression, so it is startling when he suddenly shoots to his feet and flings the watch down onto the cement floor, where it cracks. He smashes his bare foot down onto it, again and again, bits and pieces of the watch flying everywhere. Batman starts up, ready for an attack. The Joker kicks the watch at the far wall and then lets out a scream of pure rage, his fists clenched.

“Calm down,” Batman orders him sharply. The Joker whirls on him but doesn’t actually appear to see him at all. He is panting open-mouthed, his eyes darting around. If this were anyone else, Batman would expect tears but there is nothing like that. The Joker punches the wall so hard that Batman can hear a bone crack.

Batman is on him in two steps, wrapping his arms around the Joker and pinning them down at his sides. The Joker thrashes viciously in his grip, still breathing harshly, kicking at Batman’s legs and making Batman take his whole weight. Batman clenches his teeth and hangs on tenaciously.

“Calm down or I’ll have to sedate you,” Batman says, wincing when the Joker drills his heel into Batman’s shin.

“Don’t sed—don’t seda—” the Joker gasps out. His skin is fevered. He struggles against Batman. Batman takes a step backward and then pushes the Joker down to the floor, trying to pin him down. The Joker is incredibly strong and it’s all Batman can do to keep his arms trapped at his sides. He pushes the Joker onto his stomach and the Joker smashes his own face into the floor hard. Batman jerks him back, pulling the Joker back against his chest.

The Joker keeps struggling, kicking out at the floor, for what seems like forever. Batman closes his eyes and holds on and finally the Joker seems to lose his energy. He goes limp, his head tipping back against Batman’s shoulder. His breathing is harsh.

“Don’t sedate me,” the Joker whispers clearly.

“Okay. I won’t. I promise,” Batman whispers back.

Batman doesn’t let go of him, but for the moment the Joker seems too exhausted to struggle. He can hear the soft hum of the refrigerator back in the other room and the distant rumble of some traffic on the harbor, but otherwise it is quiet.

“Is this real?” the Joker asks.

Batman stares at the far wall over the Joker’s shoulder. “Yes,” he replies.


	4. Chapter 4

The second to last tape in the series starts like all the rest.

 _“Have you ever had a romantic relationship?” the doctor asks the Joker._

 _The Joker seems on edge today. One of his feet is jiggling. He can’t seem to focus on the doctor at all._

 _“No,” the Joker says._

 _“Have you ever had a sexual relationship?”_

 _The Joker’s knee stops jiggling. “Yes,” he says, staring at the doctor._

 _“Do you think you would be capable of love if you had a chance?”_

 _The jiggling starts up again. “No.”_

 _“Why not?”_

 _The Joker chews on his lip, looking annoyed. “I just wouldn’t.”_

 _“It’s not something you’ve ever questioned?”_

 _“No.”_

 _“You think you’re just physically incapable?”_

 _“Yes.”_

 _“There are different types of love. The kind you would feel for a sibling, or a parent, or a friend. Do you think you’re capable of any of them?”_

 _“No.”_

 _“Do you regret that?”_

 _“No.”_

 _There is a pause. The Joker is very restless. The chains on his wrists jingle._

 _“You look a little upset today,” the doctor says._

 _The Joker says nothing._

 _“Do you want to tell me why?”_

 _Again, silence._

 _“Okay. You said that you’ve had sexual relationships before. Were any of these long term? Did you stay with the relationship for longer than, say, two weeks?”_

 _“No.”_

 _“Could you tell me anything about your most recent sexual experience?”_

 _The Joker stares at him, his lips pressed together. He seems to be on the verge of violent motion, but at the moment he stays very still._

 _“Do you remember your most recent sexual experience?”_

 _“Do you?” the Joker asks quietly._

 _“Of course. I have a healthy sexual relationship with my wife.”_

 _“No.” The Joker rocks forward in his chair. “No. It was_ you. _It was with_ you.”

 _“What was with me?”_

 _The Joker is now openly distressed. He comes half out of his seat, then sits again._ “You fucked me.”

 _There is dead silence._

 _“I’m sorry?” the doctor asks, sounding shocked. “I did no such thing.”_

 _“You—it was the dreams, they weren’t dreams, they were—” The Joker stands up and the door behind him opens, one of the guards edging into the room. The Joker sits._

 _“Is that what the dreams have been about?” the doctor asks, sounding curious now. He makes a gesture and the guard leaves the room again. “I assure you, I have not been visiting you at night, but I’m glad you finally told me. Why do you think you’ve been having these dreams?”_

“They’re not dreams,” _the Joker insists desperately._

 _“I think that these sessions have been very difficult for you,” the doctor says. “We’ve been exploring your private life more than you have in the past, and I think you subconsciously feel that this is a personal violation. I’m not surprised that you would have these dreams.”_

 _The Joker shoots to his feet again, his face twisted in anger. “You sick fuck,” he snarls, starting for the desk._

 _A guard charges into the room again and catches the Joker as he reaches the desk. The Joker violently struggles to throw him off but the guard is joined by a second and then a third. They wrestle the Joker to the floor. The Joker is shouting but the words are unintelligible._

 _One of the guards sedates the Joker and he goes still and quiet. They lift him up to carry out of the room. The doctor rises from his desk and turns off the camera._

##

Batman sits at the computer array, exhausted. His mask and cowl sit on the table. His eyes keep glancing towards the monitor where the Joker lays in his cell. The Joker hasn’t moved in a few hours, but Batman doubts that he’s sleeping. At least he finally took his antibiotics and let Batman bandage his hand, which was broken.

The other computer screen, the one where the video was playing, is now blank. He feels as if he’s been punched in the gut. He has since the video stopped playing half an hour ago.

He remembers what the Joker told him yesterday. _If you have power, you abuse it. If you don’t have power, you get abused._ Maybe he was right.

There are two ways of looking at this video. The first is that the Joker could be lying or delusional and believes something happened when nothing really did. It's not that far-fetched. The Joker is a manipulative, lying criminal and he has a history of delusions. Batman is pretty sure that the Joker honestly believes that he was abused, but that doesn’t mean it happened. Maybe the doctor was right and this is all just because he hates the sessions.

On the other hand, the doctor has already done some unethical things in their sessions. He has a personal grudge against the Joker and is apparently manipulating him to think he’s crazier than he is. None of that leads conclusively to rape, but it doesn’t exonerate him, either.

Still. Batman tries to shake away the growing discomfort but he can’t seem to push it away. Whether the Joker was abused or not, the fact is that he honestly believes he was raped by the doctor. That, plus the Joker’s desperate grasp on reality, is filling Batman with a feeling of empathy that is sitting uneasily with the feelings of anger and hatred he started with. He can’t in good conscience put the Joker back in Arkham with that doctor. Maybe Gordon was right in trying to find a safe asylum where the Joker won’t be put under the mercy of his own victims.

##

The Joker is sitting up against the wall when Batman comes in with breakfast an hour later. The coffee today is hot, and this time there’s oatmeal and a plastic spoon. The Joker glances at it queasily. He is less pale and his eyes are sharp again.

“Are you feeling any better?” Batman asks, setting the food down on the floor in front of him.

“Why did you watch the videos of me?” the Joker asks.

“If I have to take care of you, I wanted to know what I was in for,” Batman says, straightening up and looking down at him.

“That’s illegal, you know.”

“I know.”

“It was a violation of my privacy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Really?” The Joker seems to be back to fine form. There is a angry smile hovering around the corners of his lips. Batman feels a flicker of irritation, which he latches onto in relief. Better that than the conflicted feelings of before.

“I would do it again if I had to,” Batman says. “But I regret doing it. You deserve privacy as much as anyone else.”

“You just did it for my own good,” the Joker says, still smiling a little. “I _deserve_ privacy, but it’s okay if you violate it because you know _you_ wouldn’t do anything wrong with it.”

Guilt niggles at Batman’s mind. He pushes it away. “You’re back to the abuse of power again, aren’t you?”

“People in power abuse it. If I had _you_ in a cell and _your_ medical records, of course I’d look at them.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“What makes it wrong is that you’re pretending you would never sink to that level.”

“I have a responsibility not to abuse my power.”

The Joker sheds his blanket and rises to his feet. Batman eyes him warily. Even without makeup, in loose cotton clothes, with one broken hand, completely unarmed and shaky from last night’s sickness, the Joker is a dangerous person. Batman is ready for an attack, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. He doesn’t want the Joker to know that he makes him nervous.

“You really think that you’re different from all the rest?” the Joker asks, swaying in a little closer. “You think that you wouldn’t take what you wanted if you had the chance?”

“What the doctor did to you was wrong.”

There is a flicker in the Joker’s expression, almost surprise. Batman holds his gaze steadily.

“But it’s not uncommon,” the Joker presses on. He reaches out and grabs Batman’s crotch, squeezing.

The armor protects him there but he can still feel the pressure of the Joker’s hand. He flinches, stepping back, and then curses himself internally for reacting to the Joker’s advance. The Joker laughs out loud at his startled expression.

“You think that you wouldn’t take it if you wanted it,” he says in amused disgust. “You’re in denial. I don’t think you even believe that.”

“I am not above the law,” Batman says firmly. “I don’t have any say over your fate. The courts gave you your punishment. I can’t punish you beyond that. I’m not going to treat you like my property because you’re in my custody. All I have a right to do is keep you safe and keep you from hurting others.”

The Joker steps forward again, crowding into his personal space. His hand snakes out and Batman moves back before it can touch him, reaching down and grabbing the Joker’s wrist. The Joker laughs harshly, trying to pull away. Batman holds on.

“Are you trying to get me to attack you?” Batman says coldly. “Would that make you feel better?”

“It would make _you_ feel better,” the Joker replies. “You wouldn’t have to pretend to be something you’re not. Everyone gives in. It’s the way of the world.”

“It’s the way in prison, maybe,” Batman says. “That doesn’t mean it’s that way everywhere else, and it doesn’t make it right. You just think it’s right because that’ll all you know.”

“I can hold my own against the inmates,” the Joker says, tugging on his wrist again. When Batman lets go, the Joker steps in closer. “They keep playing their little games. But the people in charge are the ones to look out for. They all give in to their fear and anger, every single one of them. Your precious _normal people._ ”

“You want me to force myself on you so you can have power over me,” Batman says calmly, not stepping back even though the Joker is well within his personal space. “I’m not going to do that.”

“What if I wanted it?” The Joker leans in all the way, pressing his body against Batman’s. His hand clamps down over Batman’s crotch again. Batman can feel the weight of him but he doesn’t move back. He is not going to continue to give ground to the Joker, no matter how much the Joker provokes him. His cock wakes up in interest but he ignores it. It’s just from the contact, he knows. It will go away.

“Even if I wanted it and you wanted it, I wouldn’t do it,” Batman says. “Because you’re in my custody and you have no way of saying no to me. Do I think you would want to have sex with me if you were free? No. If you had the choice, you would be nowhere near here and I know that. You’re my prisoner, so you can’t give consent to anything I ask of you. It would be rape.”

The Joker glares at him from inches away. Batman glares back. The Joker holds the position for a moment more and then he laughs, tightening his hand.

“Look at you, trying to hold your ground,” he purrs. “Trying to prove how moral you are.” His hand releases and then squeezes again and Batman’s breath catches. He curses inwardly for the reaction. The Joker’s eyes sharpen at the sound and he does it again. Batman grabs his wrist and pulls it away. The Joker laughs and leans against him.

“Why don’t you just give up all your power if you’re so afraid of abusing it?” the Joker asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Just throw away the costume and be whoever it is you are.”

The automatic answer stalls in his throat. Why, indeed? Why did he agree to come back as Batman? Why didn’t he just tell Gordon to find someone else for the job? Is he really going to continue to be Batman after this job is over?

“Eat your breakfast and I’ll change your bandages after,” Batman says finally, his voice rough. “And then you’re going to have to take your medication.”

The Joker’s expression sours. He takes a step back from Batman and Batman lets go of his wrist. The Joker turns away, sitting down on the floor next to the food. On the floor next to where he sits is the digital watch. It has been completely reassembled, although the face of it is obviously smashed. Batman looks down at it, then pushes away his uncertainty and leaves the room.

##

Gordon is waiting for him on the roof of the City Hall again, although it’s only seven in the morning. Today the sun cuts a few weak rays through the clouds.

“Is he still alive?” Gordon asks as soon as Batman arrives.

“He’s okay,” Batman responds. He had needed to get out of the bunker. As soon as he had replaced the bandages and given the Joker his meds, he had beaten a hasty retreat. He needed air. For one thing, no one had touched him like the Joker had in over a year. For another, he was beginning to feel a little too much empathy for his prisoner.

“Do you know the Joker’s doctor? Dr. Garrett?” Batman asks, pushing away his thoughts.

“Well, a little,” Gordon admits with a small shrug. “I know the name.”

“I think the doctor was abusing the Joker in prison.” Batman hesitates. “Sexually abusing him.”

Gordon stares at him. “Did the Joker tell you this?”

Batman shakes his head “There were recordings of his sessions with the doctor. I know the Joker accused his doctor of it.”

“I heard a little bit about the Joker’s accusations when I looked into this whole business, but honestly I think I believe Dr. Garrett’s side of the story. The Joker is a manipulative man.”

“I think that we should look into it a little more.”

“If the Joker wants to press formal charges, he can do that and there will be an internal investigation,” Gordon says wearily. “Until then, there’s nothing we can do. And maybe I should tell you something else before you start believing everything he says.”

“What?”

“We’ve found out who put out the original kill order on the Joker.” Gordon hesitates. “It was the Joker.”

“He put a price on his _own_ head?” Batman asks dubiously.

“Yes. And it was a pretty big price, too. He had a lot of money in his prison account.”

“But why would he do that?” Batman asks, his mind racing through the possibilities. Before Gordon can answer his question, he understands. “He knew that we would have to remove him from Arkham if his life was in danger.”

“That’s my guess,” Gordon says. “I don’t think he counted on us giving him to you. I’m pretty sure he intended to escape as soon as he was outside of Arkham.”

“He planned this whole thing,” Batman says. Despite himself, he feels angry betrayal welling in his chest.

“If you are right about the abuse, it’s possible he felt that was the only way of stopping it,” Gordon points out quietly. “But I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.”

Batman doesn’t answer, already turning towards the edge of the roof.

##

The Joker is gone when he comes back from visiting Gordon.

The door to the cell is open and someone has gone through all of the weapons and surgical supplies on the table. The door that Batman uses to bring his Tumbler through (or rather, the one he used before the Tumbler was destroyed) is open just a crack, letting in chilly air.

He has no way of tracking the Joker but if he has to take a wild guess, he’s pretty sure he knows where the Joker might go. It only takes him a few seconds to look up Dr. Garrett’s address in the computer and then he heads out.

He’s been so fucking stupid. He let the Joker manipulate him into feeling sorry for him and wanting to do something to help him. The Joker put the price on his _own_ head. He wanted to get out of Arkham, probably to get away from Dr. Garrett and perhaps to get revenge.

That’s assuming that the doctor even actually abused the Joker, and Batman is feeling uncharitable at the moment. He was beginning to believe the Joker, but he doesn’t know how he feels about it anymore. Just because the Joker is a terrible man who was lying to him doesn’t mean that he wasn’t abused. After all, the Joker never even told him that he was abused. It was all in the video that the Joker didn’t know he would ever watch.

The doctor lives just outside of the city, in a wealthy suburb full of giant houses. The houses are set far apart from each other, with neatly landscaped lawns.

It is mid-morning on a Saturday and there is a car in the driveway. The doctor must be home with his daughter, which isn’t good news for either of them. Batman drives his motorcycle right up to the front porch. He doesn’t have time to be quiet and park down the street.

He breaks in the front door to the sound of a little girl screaming from inside. The screams are coming from upstairs, and there seems to be someone talking as well. Batman climbs the stairs two at a time.

In the master bedroom, a little girl is sitting on the end of the bed, her face twisted up in terror. Her father, the doctor, is sitting next to her, a gag in his mouth, his hands tied in front of him. He is missing four fingers. There is a lot of blood. The doctor’s face is tight with pain and streaked with tears.

The Joker is sitting behind the doctor on the bed, his arm around the doctor’s neck, a knife pressing against the doctor’s carotid, as Batman comes into the doorway. The Joker is not surprised to see him.

“I’m going to cut his throat,” the Joker says when Batman stops in the doorway.

“No bargaining?” Batman asks.

“You can try to convince me not to if you want.”

The doctor’s eyes are wide and fixed on Batman. He breathes heavily, sucking on the gag. He makes unintelligible sounds.

“At least don’t make his daughter watch,” Batman says.

The Joker’s eyes flicker briefly to the girl before settling on Batman again. “It’ll be good for her.”

“Let her go.”

The Joker’s eyes flicker. “Says the one without the knife.”

“She doesn’t need to be punished for something she didn’t do.”

“No.” The Joker turns his attention to the doctor and plants a kiss on his cheek. “But it makes him feel worse to have his daughter watch, doesn’t it?”

The doctor says something that is probably obscene. The little girl is crying.

“If you press charges against him, we’ll make him lose his job,” Batman says. “He’ll lose his house and his money. He’ll lose custody of his daughter. He’ll spend time in prison.”

“You think the justice system would do all that?” the Joker asked distractedly, his knife digging into the doctor’s throat. “To an upstanding citizen of Gotham? You don’t know the system like I do. Guilty people get off. _Believe me_.”

He certainly has a point. The allegations are all based on the Joker’s own word at the moment, and the Joker’s word is worth less than nothing in Gotham. This doctor will never see a court room, no matter how explicit the evidence. The doctor must have known that when he started this whole thing.

“I’ll help you,” Batman says.

“Oh, Batman will be a big help,” the Joker says derisively. Batman feels something in his chest chill. From the way the Joker said it, it’s clear that the Joker knows his identity. He must have gotten a clue when he came out of the bunker on Wayne Enterprises land.

“I have more power than you think,” Batman says quietly.

The Joker is watching him. The knife point is quivering against the doctor’s throat. Batman knows that the Joker is just waiting for the excuse to drive it through the doctor’s neck.

“If he dies, he won’t see justice,” Batman says.

“We got a little bit into the justice before you got here,” the Joker says, nodding down at the doctor’s mangled hands. “If you step out of the room for a little while, we can finish up here.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It won’t take much effort on your part.”

“Let me take his daughter out of here.”

“You know, I was going to rape her in front of her father.”

The doctor makes a strangled noise. Batman can’t tell if the Joker is telling the truth or not but the doctor certainly seems to think so. The little girl picks up on her father’s distress and starts to cry harder.

“I thought it would be fitting. What do you think, doc? Did you think it would be nice and ironic? I never really dreamed about her, you know.”

The doctor says something into his gag. Looking curious, the Joker drags the gag out of the doctor’s mouth.

“You’re fucking sick,” the doctor spits. “The police should have just killed you when they had the chance.”

“They should have,” the Joker agrees, scratching little lines into the doctor’s neck. “But they waited too long and things changed.”

“They’ll put you to death. You’re too dangerous to keep alive. If you kill me—”

“If I wasn’t mentally competent then, I’m not now,” the Joker points out. “They don’t kill the insane.”

The doctor breaks down into tears. “Please don’t kill me.”

Batman watches the exchange with a faint feeling of pity. This entire thing is in a deadlock. The Joker seems to want to draw it out as long as possible.

“I know what you think I did to you,” the doctor says, his voice breaking. “But I never touched you. I would never do that. I want to help you. We can get through these delusions together.”

The Joker’s eyes shift to the doctor’s face, his expression cold. Batman can’t tell if the doctor is lying or not. Maybe he did abuse the Joker. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe the Joker is much more delusional than Batman thought.

“I can sign your release papers,” the doctor says. “I can have you out of Arkham. You would be free to go. I can say you’re sane.”

It would never work. Not after only eight months into a life sentence. Not when the Joker has so obviously held the doctor at knife point. The second the doctor is out of the Joker’s reach, he’ll change his story.

“I’m not going to try to tell you he doesn’t deserve it,” Batman says quietly. “Because he probably does. I’m not going to convince you that he’ll get a fair trial, because he probably won’t. I’m not even going to tell you to spare his life, because I don’t think it matters. But if you kill him, what do you think the other doctors and nurses and guards will do to you in Arkham? Do you think that they’ll appreciate it? Commissioner Gordon has been doing background checks on all the staff to make sure that there aren’t any more like this doctor here who lost his wife to you. Do you really want to go ahead and murder him and give them all a reason to hate you any more?”

“I can hold my own,” the Joker says.

“No, you can’t. Not against them. That’s the point of prison. To take your power away from you. You can’t give them a reason to abuse it.” Batman watches him carefully. “Let the doctor live. I promise you, he won’t have an easy time of it. If he’s dead, it’s just over.”

“Is that why you saved my life?” the Joker asks, still looking at the doctor.

“Yes,” Batman says honestly.

The Joker’s eyes shift to his and Batman knows his intentions the second before the knife moves. Batman lunches forward and shoves his hand between the knife and the doctor’s neck. The blade digs into his palm as the Joker stabs forward. Batman elbows the doctor out of the way and grabs the Joker’s arm, twisting it around. He forces pressure on the Joker’s other hand, which is broken from the night before. The Joker yelps in pain and the two of them roll off the side of the bed, struggling.

Batman wrestles the Joker to the ground and then cuffs his hands behind his back. He has a sedative in his pocket but for the moment he doesn’t us it. The doctor is on his feet and fleeing down the hall, his daughter in front of him. Batman goes after them.

He catches up to the doctor at the bottom of the stairs, when the doctor is just about the head out of the house. The doctor is shocked when Batman shoves him into the wall so hard his teeth rattle.

“Did you do it?” Batman asks him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the doctor says desperately.

“Did you do it?”

The doctor squirms in his grip. “Do what?”

“Did you rape him?”

The doctor pants, his eyes wide with terror. “He killed my wife,” he says.

Batman studies him for a second and then narrows his eyes. He tightens his grip on the doctor’s throat.

“If you ever practice medicine ever again I will ruin you,” Batman growls at him. “I will ruin you financially. I will ruin you professionally. And I will ruin you personally. Do you understand?”

The doctor nods, shaking, tears spilling out of his eyes. Batman lets go of him, letting him drop to the floor, and heads back upstairs.

##

The Joker lays on the blankets in his cell without moving, staring up at the ceiling. Batman wonders if he expects Batman to sedate him, but instead Batman just leaves him there.

Around noon, he makes a pot of coffee and drinks some, slumped in his chair at the computer array. The television, on mute, shows an ad for some Valentine’s Day flower sale. He turns off the television, then abruptly gets up from the array and fixes another cup of coffee.

He brings it into the cell. The Joker’s eyes roll to see him but he doesn’t move. Batman puts the cup of coffee down next to him, then sits down against the wall with his own cup.

They sit in silence for a few long moments. Finally the Joker props himself up on his elbows and looks down at the cup of coffee. He looks up at Batman.

“Is there anything in this?”

“Cream and sugar,” Batman says, knowing that’s not what he means.

The Joker gives him a look. Batman returns it.

“I told you I wasn’t going to sedate you anymore.”

The Joker hesitates a moment more, then sits up all the way and picks up the cup in both hands.

“Did he do it?” the Joker asks.

It is an oddly uncertain question. Batman considers him. The Joker is looking at him over the rim of the cup, waiting for his response.

“I don’t know for certain,” Batman says, choosing his words carefully. “But I think he did.”

The Joker’s gaze shifts to his coffee cup. He seems to be holding his breath. Batman doesn’t know what would be the preferred answer: that the Joker’s grip on reality was worse that he’d thought, or that his doctor had abused him.

The Joker lets out the breath and takes a sip of the coffee. He glances up at Batman again.

“Are you happy?” he asks.

Batman stares at him. “What?”

“You saved my life so that I wouldn’t get the easy way out,” the Joker says. “Does it make you feel better?”

Batman takes a moment to think about the question. The Joker seems to be completely serious at the moment, wanting a real response.

“If you died, you would always be the villain,” Batman says finally. “You could never change. I could never forgive you. You would just be dead. And no, I _don’t_ forgive you,” he adds off of the Joker’s look. “I don’t know if I ever will. But I have that option, and so does everyone else who lost loved ones to you.”

“Like the doctor,” the Joker says.

“Going to jail is your punishment for your crimes. No one else gets to add in their own personal vengeance.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

The Joker doesn’t respond to that. He takes another sip of the coffee, then puts it down and rests his elbows on his knees. “You’re on the board of trustees at Arkham.”

So he _does_ know. Batman briefly considers denying it, then abandons the thought.

“I am.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” The Joker gives him a bland look. “Where would be the fun in _that_?”

“Thank you.”

The bland look flickers for a second. “Am I going back to Arkham?”

“You’re probably going somewhere else.”

“Will you visit me?”

“Do you want me to?”

The Joker’s gaze slides away. “You should visit me.”

“As Batman?”

“If you want.”

“I don’t think that would go over well.”

“As Bruce Wayne then.”

“Maybe.”

The Joker picks at the bandage around his broken hand. He seems almost disappointed at Batman’s response.

“I won’t know if it really happened,” he says. “Any of this.” He waves vaguely around the cell.

“I’ll visit you,” Batman says quietly.

The Joker’s gaze skitters over to him, then away again. He doesn’t say anything.

Batman is silent for a moment. Finally he says, “You asked me before why I didn’t just give up all my power if I was afraid of hurting people with it.”

The Joker raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“I keep this power because I can use it to help other people who don’t have any. Whether I like that person or not doesn’t mean that I can let them suffer. I need to fight against the people who abuse their power, because if I don’t, who will?”

The Joker does not respond, but it’s not an angry silence. He seems to be musing on the idea. When it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to respond, Batman gets up and collects the coffee cups and leaves the room.

##

They move the Joker to an asylum out of the state the next afternoon. It is done quietly, without news coverage. Batman does background checks on all the staff and is satisfied. They seem to be competent people who will be able to handle the Joker.

Dr. Garrett does not return to work at Arkham. Bruce Wayne sees to that. He loses his job and his medical license by the end of the week and leaves town. Bruce almost feels disappointed that he couldn’t do more against the man, but there is really nothing he can do. The Joker won’t press charges, likely because there’s no point to it. There is no proof and no record of other incidents, so he lets it go.

Three days after the Joker is taken away, Bruce receives a card in the mail. It has no return address. It’s a Valentine’s Day card, although the day has already passed. The inside of it is blank. He puts it on the desk in the bunker. When Alfred asks who it’s from, he says he doesn’t know.

Later, he returns to the bunker alone and sits at his computer. He can see the feed into the empty cell where he had kept the Joker. The place seems empty, but not in the way in did before. Not in the way it was when he left here a year ago.

He calls Gordon on the cell phone before he can change his mind. Gordon answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” he says, and then pauses. He stares at the Valentine’s Day card, then reaches out and flips it open, staring at the blank interior.

“What’s up?” Gordon asks in curiosity.

Batman lets the card flip shut again. He takes a breath. “What’s next?”


End file.
